Compulsion
by mercurybard
Summary: Prequel to Bad Aftertaste. Michael finds Veronica on the floor of his bathroom after her dad hits her.


Disclaimer: I don't _Prison Break_; I just play in the sandbox.

A/N: A prequel to "Bad Aftertaste".

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Veronica was sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor, naked. I didn't ask how she got in—there's always someone coming and going and sometimes it feels like she lives here too. She's one of the few people we can trust not to steal our stuff. Hell, even Magdalen and Jose know she's not going to take anything, and they sometimes forget that I live here too.

I was just standing in the doorway to the bathroom, gaping. Like I said, she was naked, and as much as I wanted to look away because, hey, she's Linc's girl even when they're broken up, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. It might have something to do with that fact that this was the first time I'd seen a girl naked. (Even the homeless lady down the street who lifts her skirt at Lincoln every time he walks by leaves me alone).

She sniffled and reached for her towel, which was sitting in a puddle of spilled bathwater, to wrap herself in. The movement broke whatever spell seeing her like that had over me, and I realized that there was blood leaking down out of her hair. My first thought was 'her dad beat her again', and my second was 'Lincoln's gonna kill him'. It wasn't a joke—one day Mr. Donovan was going to go too far, and my brother was going to beat the ever living shit out of him and end up on Death Row for murder. Premeditated murder, since he's been thinking about doing it for almost as long as he's known Veronica. I wondered if I'd been included as an accomplice since he's told me about this plan of his many, many times.

V tried to duck away from me when I crouched down beside her to look at the cut. Her scalp was split, just behind her right ear, and the showering must have pulled off whatever scab had formed. Pulling some toilet paper off the roll, I pressed it to her head gently, trying to mop up as much blood as I could. It'd run down the back of her neck, mixing with the bathwater and turning pink as it slid over her snow-pale skin. She hadn't really wrapped the towel around her—just sort of dragged it into her lap to cover her front—and I could see the entire length of her spine from the base of her skull where I held her hair away from the cut to her ass. She smelled like Lincoln's Irish Spring soap, reminding me very much of him even as I felt my whole body flush at the sight of her.

As I knelt there, the water on the floor slowly soaking through the knee of my jeans, she let out another sob and quickly pulled her legs up to her chest, pressing her face to her knees so I wouldn't see the tears running down her cheeks. My throat was too tight to speak as I wrapped my arms around her.

I'd never thought of V as a small person before, but in my arms, she seemed tiny. I'd only hit my growth spurt last fall and knew I was taller than her now, but she always seemed so much bigger when we were both standing. And clothed. It might have something to do with the fact that Veronica scares the hell out of me. Yes, she's Lincoln's on-again / off-again girlfriend and the closest thing I'll have to a best friend (who's not my brother), but she's also got a tongue liked barbed wire and can make you feel about a foot tall if you piss her off.

And yet, she let her dad beat on her. And stopped Lincoln all those times when he got drunk and threatened to kick her dad's ass. I don't know if I'll ever understand it. Or her.

The broken floor tiles were starting to dig into my knee, so I sat down, immediately feeling the cold water seeping into the seat of my pants. V moved too…crawling into my lap and burying her head in the crook of my shoulder as she kept crying. The towel pressed between us was a clammy, uncomfortable weight, but it was a good distraction from what was going on in the front of my jeans. Nothing I'd want to share with Linc later, let me assure you of that.

My throat loosened enough that little "shh" noises could come out as I ran my hands over her bare back. My fingers bumped over each of her vertebrae, and I was struck again by how delicate she was. Suddenly, _I_ wanted to dig Magdalen's gun out of its hiding spot under the couch and go shoot her dad. Because not even the worst Veronica tongue-lashing could be scarier than this.


End file.
